


Stealing My Heart

by bideru



Series: Tales from Silvermoon [9]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, also i'm pretty sure she's a lesbian but that's neither here nor there, and replace it with thalyssra backstabbing her new friend and stealing her man, blizz did liadrin dirty, free salandria, fuck canon all my homies hate canon, how can you write over all that relationship building and flirting and implying from bc, i ask you, thalyssra deserves so much better than being immediately thrown at a man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bideru/pseuds/bideru
Summary: The moment Thalyssra laid eyes on Lor'themar Theron she was smitten. Until she realized he belonged to somebody else.
Relationships: Liadrin/Lor'themar Theron, unrequited Thalyssra/Lor'themar
Series: Tales from Silvermoon [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747684
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Stealing My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Okay, we need to write a new chapter of Dalah'surfal. Let's write Dalah'surfal.  
> Brain: THALYSSRA, YOU SAY?

Durotar was a desert, and while it was hot, it was a dry heat. It was easier to breathe here than on the hottest, muggiest days in Suramar, and though Thalyssra found little and less to like about the red sands, she did like that. 

Orgrimmar was not a large city compared to Suramar. The towering cliffs of the canyons it was built into provided some protection from dust storms and the worst of the heat, and its ugly metal architecture somehow suited the orcs’ personality and history. They were a warfaring people, Thalyssra had been told, and everywhere she looked she saw evidence of that. There were more weapons shops than she could count on both hands, and their thick, guttural language had a dozen words for _axe,_ denoting sharpness, use, rarity of metal, and superiority of craftsmanship, but they had one word for _fruit._ Their epics described great battles and warriors’ prowess, with none of the love songs, flowery poetry, or layers of nuance that Thalyssra had learned as a girl in Old Kalimdor. Her first night in the orcish city, to celebrate their new alliances she and the other leaders had been feasted in what she’d been assured was the traditional style, to the beat of drums with four entire spit-roasted boars and goblets carved from bone. 

It was all very unsettling. 

Thalyssra didn’t consider herself a snob ﹣ had in fact led several rebellions against the out of touch, wealthy elite ﹣ but she felt closer than ever to the nobles she had displaced during her time in the orcish city. This is how her betters had seen her and her followers.

She was trying to keep an open mind.

It was difficult then, to rationalize her predisposition towards associating with her new sin’dorei friends. At the welcome banquet, Thalyssra was seated next to the Lady Liadrin, who pulled a sympathetic face and told her, “I’m sure it’s different than what you’re used to, but it does grow on you.” 

Thalyssra liked Liadrin. Where her old former acquaintance Tyrande had been cold and reluctant to associate with her, Liadrin ﹣ a _stranger_ ﹣ had welcomed her with open arms. And it seemed Thalyssra and her retinue weren’t the only ones sticking to their kind. The sin’dorei did much the same. 

She met with Silvermoon’s Grand Magister several times, as did Oculeth. And Liadrin associated mainly with her blood knights, the Ranger General with his Farstriders. There were a lot of elves in the city, after the defeat of the Burning Legion, many more than was usual, Thalyssra had been told. And it had not been lost on her that the vast majority of those who made up the armies to liberate Suramar had come from the elven races. Thalyssra tried integrating into her host city, but more often than not, the complete cultural divide threw her back. 

She supposed that was how she came to be standing at the sparring ring in the Valley of Honor, watching as two young girls did battle. 

One of the girls was an orc, burly as all orc women were and with her hair pulled into twin tails. She used a sword, which Thalyssra had come to understand was not usual for orcs. Opposite her was a sin’dorei who also carried a sword, comically large against her slight frame. Orcs were larger than elves, and many were physically stronger, but even with the handicap of the enormous sword, it seemed to Thalyssra that the sin’dorei girl was winning, using her speed and small size to her advantage. 

A crowd had gathered as the two girls fought, and Thalyssra heard cheers for both sides. An orc called out something about adjusting stances, which she assumed was followed through by one of the girls as it wasn’t mentioned again. They fell back, panting, and did a kind of half circle before lunging forward again. 

“Attagirl!” cried another elf some ways away. He was tall and blonde, with a handsome leather patch over one eye and dressed comfortably in soft leathers and sturdy, well-worn boots. He watched the spectacle intently, his eyes following the elf girl. Thalyssra thought she had seen him before, at the welcome feast. 

And she had, she realized. She hardly recognized him without his fine red and gold brocade. This was Lor’themar Theron, Regent Lord of the sin’dorei. 

There was a clang in the ring, and out of the corner of her eye Thalyssra saw the orc parry the elf girl’s swing and strike out hard with her own. The sin’dorei blocked with the flat of her blade. 

By the Nightwell, Lor’themar Theron was handsome. The desert sun hit his fine features just so, and his cornsilk hair gleamed nearly white. The remains of a scar poked out beneath his eyepatch, subtle but distinguished. He was clearly a warrior; it was obvious in his demeanor that he understood the mechanics of the spar, could probably name off the top of his head the maneuvers executed by the girls. Thalyssra knew little of physical fighting. 

A cheer went up from some of the spectators as the elf disarmed the other girl, the orc’s long sword wrenched from her hands and landing some distance away. The sin’dorei pointed her blade at the orc and it looked for a moment like the spar was over ﹣ until the orc dropped to the ground and struck out with her strong, well-muscled leg, knocking the elf onto her back. The sin’dorei kept ahold of her weapon, however, and used it as an anchor to thrust herself back to her feet.

“Good recovery!” the Regent Lord hollered. He’d asked Thalyssra to call him Lor’themar at the banquet. 

“I see you’re quite enjoying yourself, Regent Lord,” Thalyssra said.

She had approached on his blind side, and he had to turn his head to look at her. “Well met, Thalyssra. Pleace, call me Lor’themar.”

“Lor’themar.” The word was sweet on her tongue. “I suppose we can’t help ourselves when there’s a spectacle,” she said, gesturing towards the two girls. 

“Orcs value shows of strength,” Lor’themar told her, eye sliding back to the spar. “We can’t help but show off our own.”

“Should the orc not be dressed in better armor?” Concern for the girl bled through her words. The sin’dorei wore a full suit of plate, her face red and sweaty in the heat, while her opponent faced her only in stiff leather.

“Orcs are tough,” Lor’themar said dismissively. “Their skin is not as delicate as yours or mine.” 

Thalyssra looked around. Even the city guards only wore mail, their legs and arms bare and broad shoulders covered by thick shoulder pads. She had seen them don plate ﹣ High Overlord Saurfang wore a chest guard ﹣ but that seemed not to be the norm.

Another cheer ﹣ the elf girl had again disarmed the orc, this time knocking and pinning the other girl to the ground at swordpoint.

“Gol’Kosh!” came the cry from the trainer, one hand raised. “Loktar Salandria!”

Thalyssra frowned. “What’s going on?”

Lor’themar was grinning. “He said she won,” he explained, indicating the elf who was now offering her hand to her defeated opponent. The other took it, and the girl ﹣ Salandria ﹣ hauled her to her feet. The orc smacked a fist to her broad chest.

“Loktar,” she said. 

Salandria inclined her head. “Well fought.” She sheathed her sword and stepped out of the ring while the orc retrieved her own, and then two boys ﹣ both orcs ﹣ took their place. 

The elves closest to Lor’themar were cheering, and one stopped her before she reached them. He seemed to be giving the girl advice, spreading his feet just so and demonstrating a grip on his own weapon. Salandria listened very intently, and bowed her head when he was finished. 

Sin’dorei bowed a lot, Thalyssra noticed. 

“That was very good,” Lor’themar said fondly, reaching forth to clap his hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

“Thanks.” She pulled off her gauntlet and swept her damp hair off her face. “Grima’s gotten a lot better since the last time we saw each other.”

Lor’themar nodded. “I noticed her handling of the sword had much improved.” And then he seemed to remember himself, and stood a little straighter. Dropped his hand. “This is First Arcanist Thalyssra. Thalyssra, this is Salandria, a promising blood knight recruit.”

Salandria studied her for a moment, before bending forward at the waist several degrees. When she spoke, her Orcish was slow, with rounded syllables and careful enunciation that Thalyssra found very easy to understand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, First Arcanist.”

“The pleasure is mine.” In Nightborne society, Thalyssra would offer her hand for the girl to kiss, but that felt horribly out of place in such a savage city as Orgrimmar. She settled for a handshake instead, as she had seen the Forsaken do. It was close enough. 

Salandria had a very firm grip. 

The girl didn’t stay long, being pulled back into her peer group, and Lor’themar didn’t pay nearly as much attention to the other matches. The spark he’d had while watching Salandria was dulled as he cast his eye over the two orcs in the ring. 

“How are you finding Orgrimmar?” he asked conversationally, taking a deep pull from the canteen at his hip. The rim left his lips very shiny and somewhat distracting. 

“Hot,” Thalyssra deadpanned, and the regent lord chuckled.

“It is,” he agreed. “Be sure to drink enough water. It’s easy to become dehydrated even standing around.” 

“Perhaps you could show me to the nearest restaurant. A respite from the heat would be welcome.”

That was forward and she knew it, but the words had escaped before she’d even registered them. Thalyssra prayed that any heat on her face would be mistaken for sunburn.

Lor’themar eyed her. “My Grand Magister would know of a restaurant more suited to your tastes,” he admitted. “I believe you both had similar upbringings. I’m only a glorified ranger.”

And Thalyssra laughed. “I assure you, Lor’themar. I have roughed it plenty of times. Wherever you suggest will be fine.” 

Which was how Thalyssra found herself eating some sort of crunchy meat served in a metal basket and wrapped in paper. It was greasy and she’d been given no silverware or napkins, and she reminded herself several times that she had eaten in exactly the same way when she was young in Old Kalimdor.

What was unusual was that the food came from an open-air fire pit, and there was no seating at all. 

“What is this?” she asked hesitantly, nibbling on a piece. It was soft inside the shell and moist, with a not unpleasant tangy flavor. 

Lor’themar, who’d dug into his food with gusto, stopped. Seemed to consider the possibility that she had never seen the dish before, nor the animal it came from. “Scorpid surprise. There are a lot of scorpids in Durotar, and they’re very tasty.” 

Thalyssra had no idea what a scorpid was, but she took his word for it. “Why is it called scorpid _surprise?”_

“The surprise is the threat of poison in every bite!” laughed a nearby troll. 

Thalyssra choked. 

“Now, now.” Lor’themar shot the troll a dirty look. “That was funny when you did it to Liadrin, but Thalyssra’s never been here before. Don’t frighten her.” 

The troll shrugged.

To Thalyssra, the regent lord said, “It’s perfectly safe. Some cooks keep the venom sacs but this one doesn’t.”

Thalyssra was skeptical. “Liadrin eats this?” She considered Liadrin a refined, classic lady, couldn’t picture her eating… _street food._ Suramar street food maybe but not… whatever this was.

“Well.” Lor’themar shrugged. “She doesn’t prefer it, but she _has_ eaten it. My ranger general says it tastes like a less crunchy spider.”

That didn’t make it more appetizing. 

“It’s good,” he urged, and shoved an entire piece in his mouth to prove it. Thalyssra didn’t want to seem uptight, and she especially didn’t want Lor’themar to think that. 

She ate the scorpid. 

* * *

Liadrin, it seemed, was not as refined as Thalyssra had previously thought. 

Her new friend had decided to show her around the city, and when mealtime came, Liadrin took her to a different open air fire pit and procured two haunches of what she told Thalyssra were roasted boar. These also came wrapped in paper, and Liadrin had no qualms about putting the entire haunch to her face and tearing into it like an animal. 

Thalyssra did not do that. She pulled strips of meat from the bone and ate with her fingers, like she used to before Suramar split from the world. Liadrin did not judge.

“I had scorpid the other day,” Thalyssra remarked mildly. Liadrin had led her over to the much welcomed shade of an overhanging roof and sat with her back to the wall, right there in the red dirt. Thalyssra had to remind herself several times that she had only just met the woman, and that being on one’s best behavior at a welcome feast did not indicate who one really was. 

Lor’themar Theron, for example, had been polite and posh and more than a little politically savvy at the welcome feast. But after spending a good deal of the afternoon with him the other day, Thalyssra now knew that he detested politics and avoided them where he could, that he was very funny and down to earth, and he was capable of shoving his way through a crowd of burly orcs and wiry trolls with little ceremony to buy questionable street food. 

She liked him. 

“Oh?” Liadrin wiped a spot of grease from the corner of her mouth. “I’m going to assume Lor’themar made you try it.” 

Thalyssra laughed. “He did, actually. He insisted it was _delicious_ and that I couldn’t leave Orgrimmar without having eaten it.” 

“Sounds like him.” Liadrin rolled her eyes. There was fondness in her tone and Thalyssra jumped on it, hoping the two were close enough that she could prod her new friend for answers to her questions.

“Do you know him well?”

“Lor’themar?” Liadrin bit into her boar haunch and nodded, but waited until she’d swallowed before continuing. “I’ve known Lor’themar a long time.” 

Thalyssra flushed. She didn’t think her next question was very appropriate ﹣ she had only just met the man, and should be focusing on integrating her people into the Horde and rebuilding after Elisande and the Legion. But she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the moment he’d first walked into her life. She felt like a girl with a crush.

“Are you aware… is he seeing anyone?”

Liadrin stilled. Thalyssra worried she’d caused her friend offense.

She laughed nervously. “I know that’s quite a personal question, and not one I should really be concerned with…”

The paladin very slowly put down the haunch of meat, the paper in her lap crinkling as she did so. “What Lor’themar does in his private time,” Liadrin said slowly, “is his own business.”

Oh. 

“I didn’t mean to imply you swapped stories like a pair of…” Thalyssra frowned, sensing she misread the situation. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t.”

“Are _you,_ perhaps, interested in him?”

A beat. 

“No.” Liadrin’s golden eyes slid away, and she returned to her food, perhaps with a little less gusto than before. 

“I want us to be friends,” Thalyssra said earnestly. “I suppose that was a little childish of me. I just… Well. He’s very good-looking.”

Liadrin was saved at that moment from answering her by the appearance of the little girl from the other day. Salandria, Thalyssra recalled. 

“What are you doing, Mother?” the girl asked curiously, and started when she saw Thalyssra. “Hello again, First Arcanist.”

Thalyssra smiled. Liadrin had mentioned once that she had a daughter, but Thalyssra didn’t know it was Salandria. “Hello again.”

Liadrin patted the ground beside her and Salandria sat, leaning into her arm. “I’m having lunch with the First Arcanist,” she said mildly. “Have you eaten?”

“I ate with Uncle Halduron and… An'da.” 

Thalyssra didn’t know who this An'da was, but she’d heard of the other. Halduron Brightwing was Lor’themar’s Ranger General.

“Was it real food?” Liadrin pressed. 

“It was kodo, in the Valley of Wisdom.” This seemed to be a conversation Liadrin and her daughter had often, given the paladin’s skeptical look. “It was!” 

“Do you like sweets?” Thalyssra asked.

“I love sweets.” 

“My daughter would eat nothing but if I let her,” Liadrin said, knocking her head gently against Salandria’s. 

Salandria was an older child, Thalyssra thought ﹣ although such a statement meant absolutely nothing to her, she realized. The Nightborne were still children well into their thousands, and she knew sin’dorei didn’t live that long. But she thought that perhaps Liadrin might have treated the girl as younger than she was.

“Sweets taste better,” Salandria argued. And then to Thalyssra, “Are you adjusting to the city?”

“With some difficulty,” Thalyssra admitted. “Things are very different in Suramar.”

“I wish I could see your city. Mother wouldn’t let me go.” This also seemed to be a conversation the two had often, judging by the girl’s tone. 

“You’re too young,” Liadrin said mildly, picking the final pieces of meat from the haunch. 

“An'da said﹣”

“And I said no.” 

In Shalassian, _an’da_ meant _father._ Thalyssra had been led astray by enough false cognates not to trust the word, but when the little girl had left, citing the need to train, Thalyssra couldn’t help but ask.

“Are you married?” She kept her tone light; even in their short time together, she understood how much Liadrin valued her privacy. Thalyssra admired it; her own life was laid very bare before the Nightborne, and sometimes it rankled.

“No.” Liadrin was cleaning her fingers with a bit of water from the flask at her hip. “I’ve never been married.”

“Forgive me,” Thalyssra said quickly. “It’s just that in Shalassian… Well, I won’t presume that our languages haven’t diverged, but it sounded as though your daughter was talking about her father.”

Her friend capped the flask and didn’t answer. She pulled her feet closer to the center of her body, out of the sun. 

“Is that… _usual?_ Your situation?” Thalyssra had always thought, until now, that Liadrin raised her daughter alone.

“Not really.” A pause. “The Scourge changed many of the ways the sin’dorei had always followed. It is not uncommon anymore to adopt children. Salandria is adopted.”

“Oh.” That didn’t really answer the question, and Thalyssra thought perhaps she had touched a nerve. Liadrin had explained the Scourge to her before, the war with the undead that had claimed the lives of most of the elven population. Maybe Liadrin’s partner had been killed in the Scourge. 

Or Lor’themar’s. The mage pondered this. She had been told that it wasn’t polite to inquire about sin’dorei families, not unless the person in question made it known that they had one. Liadrin had explicitly warned her _not_ to bring up the subject to the Ranger General. Perhaps she had made a grievous error, asking after Lor’themar’s availability and Liadrin’s husband.

“My apologies,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t pry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

She still knew so little about her allies, and Thalyssra felt she was alienating her new friend. 

* * *

Silvermoon was a beautiful city, Thalyssra thought, radiant in white and red and gold. Lor’themar had invited her to visit, and she could not ignore the little flutter of her heart at his words. 

But like Orgrimmar, Silvermoon posed its own set of confusions. Thalyssra met so many people her first night that her head spun, and unfortunately they _all_ seemed terribly important to the running of the country. There were the Ranger General and the Grand Magister, with whom she was already acquainted; but there was also Ranger Lord Kelantir Bloodblade and Magistrix Erindae Firestrider, with whom she was not. Liadrin introduced her to a Lord Solanar Bloodwrath and a Magister Astalor Bloodsworn, and it seemed quite clear that they ran the Blood Knight Order as a sort of council. And then there was the High Priest Kath’mar and the Warden of the Sunwell, the Lady Neeluu Dawnseeker, and Thalyssra knew not at all where _she_ ranked, or her Captain Tyrael Flamekissed.

She visited the Sunwell, which much like the Nightwell she was not permitted to touch, but to her great surprise there were hundreds of people milling about its little grove, and several dozen in its sanctum itself. Elisande had never let common people near the Nightwell. Rarely let anyone near it at all. 

She was shown the great wall in the western half of the city and told of the many restoration projects undertaken around the tainted earth of the Dead Scar. She collaborated with the Grand Magister and Magistrix Firestrider on the precautions and treatments for their Wretched, and she felt cold all over when she learned that unlike her own Nightfallenness, Wretchedness had proven so far to be incurable. 

Silvermoon had their own Withered, and it made Thalyssra’s heart ache. 

And through it all she watched Lor’themar, who seemed both more at ease and more stressed in his home city. She didn’t think he enjoyed the power of his office or the positions it put him in, but she was grateful. If he had not been the Regent Lord, Thalyssra would never have met him, and her life would be a little darker for it. 

“You should come visit Suramar, my dear Lor’themar,” Thalyssra offered. “Your dear Grand Magister and the Lady Liadrin enjoyed their time there very much.”

Lor’themar nodded, taking a delicate sip of arcwine. Thalyssra had brought an entire casket as a gift. “I don’t think Rommath would have left if he’d had the choice.” He placed his glass down.

Thalyssra frowned. She had seen the man go through a half of dozen pints of ale in one sitting only the night before. “Is it not to your taste?”

Lor’themar followed her gaze to his barely touched wine and had the grace to flush. It was extremely attractive. “It’s a little strong,” he admitted sheepishly.

And that drew a laugh. “Arcwine is wine only in name, my dear. There’s no alcohol in it. We give it to children.”

He chuckled. “No, I can taste… It’s the _mana.”_ He scratched at his cheek, not entirely hiding his embarrassment. “It would be more to the magisters’ tastes, I expect. Or Liadrin’s,” he added. 

“You don’t have to drink it. I won’t be offended.” 

“No, it’s fine.” The regent lord picked the glass up and took a long drought from it. He looked dazed upon putting it back.

“Careful now, Lor’themar,” Thalyssra warned softly. “If it was too strong before, perhaps you should drink it slowly.” Arcwine barely sated her own thirst for mana, but to a man with little magical skill of his own, even another elf, the content of it in the drink was immense. She hadn’t realized how little Lor’themar practiced magic; no one in Suramar went more than an hour without. 

The regent lord blinked slowly, and Thalyssra had to bite back a laugh. Everything seemed to have hit him all at once, the stubborn fool. 

“You’re going to make yourself ill,” she said, carefully extracting the glass once he picked it up again. “It’s not… you can’t drink it like that.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I can’t.” 

He’d invited her to a private dinner tonight, which to her dismay also included his Ranger General and Grand Magister. But both men had retired soon after the empty dishes had been cleared, leaving her and Lor’themar alone. They’d had a productive discussion, the four of them, with his Grand Magister speaking at length about his discoveries in the Great Library of Suramar and what they might mean for the sin’dorei. He was very passionate and Thalyssra enjoyed debating with him, but she’d really wished Lor’themar had spoken more. She hadn’t realized he’d been so far out of his depth. 

At least she had him all to herself now.

“Tell me, Lor’themar. What would you be doing, if you were not Regent Lord?” 

“Right now?”

“Right now.” 

He thought. And then, “To be honest, I would most likely be on patrol somewhere with Halduron. Probably the Amani Mountains.” He tapped his chin as he mused. “One of us would be pushing the other into taking the first watch.” He laughed. “Honestly, I’d probably be stuck with it.”

“You and your Ranger General seem very close.”

“I’ve known Halduron for eleven hundred years,” Lor’themar said solemnly. “He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“How lovely!” Thalyssra didn’t think about what had happened to her and her best friend, when she’d come to power. Rebelling against Elisande had been the hardest decision she’d ever had to make.

Lor’themar beamed at her, and she found herself blushing. The man _was_ cute. “He’s saved my life more times than I can count. Without him, I’d have died several times over.” 

And then he frowned. “But the lynx was his fault,” he said very seriously.

The regent lord was rapidly becoming manadrunk. Thalyssra carefully positioned his glass out of arm’s reach.

“The lynx?”

“Mm. Cats don’t… they don’t really like Halduron.”

She listened as the regent lord recounted a rather hilarious memory of his friend attempting to save a lynx and fantastical stories of troll raids and daring rescues, of chilly, quiet nights in the Amani Mountains and noisy ones around a bonfire with his Farstriders. She heard the longing in his voice as he spoke of the beauty of Quel’Thalas’s forests, saw the faraway look come into his eye. 

“You must miss it,” she murmured, placing a hand on his arm. It bulged with muscle carefully honed from centuries of bowhunting and battles, very warm to the touch. 

“Mm. I do.”

“Perhaps you should take me out in it, allow me to experience your forests firsthand with such a strong guide as you.” 

The veil cleared a little from his eye after a moment, and Thalyssra watched as he took in their positions. They were sitting very close together and she was touching him, thumb stroking his bare skin. Both of them were deeply flushed. 

“It’s getting late.” His voice sounded very far away. “Perhaps we should turn in.”

Was he﹣?

“I’ll have someone show you back to your rooms. The Spire can be very confusing, especially…”

“You could escort me.” 

That was as clear as she could make her intentions, short of climbing into his lap and shoving her tongue in his mouth. She held her breath.

Lor’themar stared at her, recovering quickly. He huffed a little laugh. “I’m a little addled from the…” He broke away from her touch to indicate the arcwine. “I’m afraid I’m not fit to escort anyone anywhere.” 

He was _shy._ She giggled, and in her nervousness she sounded like a little girl. “Perhaps we shouldn’t separate,” she suggested. “We’re both likely to get lost.”

“I don’t live in the Spire,” Lor’themar said suddenly.

Thalyssra arched an eyebrow. “Then perhaps we should leave now,” she murmured, “or it will take longer.” 

But the regent lord was standing, and it didn’t seem like he was inviting her along. “It’s getting late,” he said again. “And I feel… you’ll have to excuse me. The arcwine…”

“Are you alright?” Thalyssra was a little alarmed. Had she misread his signals? He seemed to be as interested in her as she was in him…

“I’ll have someone return you to your rooms,” he promised, and gave a short little nod. “My apologies, I don’t… I really should… retire.” 

And then he was gone, leaving Thalyssra to stare through the open doors after him. 

Had she done something wrong?

* * *

Poetry was an elegant, civilized art form that Thalyssra had thought lost on her new allies, but tonight’s entertainment ﹣ the night before her departure ﹣ proved her wrong. Though her Thalssian was not very good, and Orcish in no way lent itself to the medium, Thalyssra enjoyed the readings that had been selected. They were beautiful, classic Thalassian epics, she’d been told, and lines of verse that waxed poetic on the splendors of nature. 

The sin’dorei read poetry much the same as the Nightborne, when company was content and sated with food and plied with drink, a single declaimer accompanied by soft music. Poetry ran through their souls, from the time of Old Kalimdor and the Well of Eternity, and Thalyssra was overjoyed to know that her sin’dorei cousins still held verse dear to their hearts.

“Had I known of this occasion, I would have composed something of my own,” she whispered to Liadrin. Her friend merely nodded without words, her eyes focused on the performer. 

Lor’themar stood to applaud the man when he’d finished, and addressed the room in his luxurious, velvety voice. “We are blessed to have some of the finest orators in Quel’Thalas in attendance tonight, and a selection of the most beautiful Thalassian classics. Thank you for lending your voices to our honored _shandors’.”_

That seemed to be a word which meant the same thing in Shalassian, an honored teacher or master. 

“Some of you may be aware that I myself write poetry﹣” and here Lor’themar’s glance slid to Halduron Brightwing “﹣and I have been persuaded to take a few moments to declaim for you all tonight.”

The Ranger General took a long drink from his glass, as though he had not been the insinuator. 

Lor’themar did not move to the middle of the room, as the other readers had, but like them, he spoke from memory. His voice was clear and sweet amid the silence of the room.

_Before I fell in love with words_

_With setting skies and singing birds_

_It was the Light I fell for first_

_Light is the thought behind the feeling_

_The starlight in the evening_

_The swelling in my chest_

_Light is the sound behind the sighing_

_The tears in all my crying_

_And the ache in every word_

Thalyssra listened raptly as Lor’themar spoke, heart swelling at the words. Beside her, Liadrin had gone quite still, as though moved. When Thalyssra looked, Liadrin’s golden eyes had fallen to the table, and across from them Halduron was staring. 

Pink colored his ears as the regent lord finished, and he held up a hand to stave off applause. “Please,” he said, “I am no master, and the _shandors_ could ﹣ and have ﹣ done better. Thank you for your attention, and please” and now he laughed “let us hear someone better.” He gestured to the next reader with a hand that trembled only slightly, and took a long, deep drought from his glass. 

  
  
  


Thalyssra intended to speak to Lor’themar after dinner, to praise the regent lord for his poetic words and see, perhaps, if she could coax a few more from him. The Sunspire was a large building and she didn’t know her way around, but she _did_ know that Lor’themar preferred to unwind in the fresh air ﹣ hadn’t he told her so himself? ﹣ so she followed her feet to the great balcony. 

A smarter woman than she would have turned around at the sound of soft whispers. Thalyssra never claimed to be a smart woman. 

Tucked in an alcove along the way, not in the window but its shadow, were two figures, standing close in each other’s arms. Thalyssra wouldn’t have seen them at all, had the smallest of sounds not reached her ears and caused her to look for their maker.

“﹣why would you﹣?”

“﹣angry at﹣”

“﹣ _no,_ but﹣”

The alcove the couple shared was small and branched from the main hall, and Thalyssra saw only their backlit figures until one of them moved into the moonlight. She caught sight of cornsilk hair and sharp cheekbones, one side of his face ﹣ the one without the eyepatch ﹣ hidden in shadow.

Lor’themar held the other person almost… _tenderly,_ and he wasn’t smiling but something in his demeanor indicated he was happy all the same.

“You have always told me to be open and honest,” he murmured, the corners of his lips twitching.

“Not about ﹣ what about not having a Theron dynasty?” The voice was familiar. 

He chuckled. “How is a poem creating a Theron dynasty?”

“You ﹣ Lor’themar, that wasn’t just a _poem_ and﹣”

Lor’themar tucked a lock of hair behind the other person’s ear, and leaned forward to brush his lips against their forehead. “Perhaps we should tell people then, Lia.”

“You just did!”

Lia. _Liadrin._ Thalyssa felt her face grow very hot. But Liadrin had said...

The regent lord chuckled, and pulled an unresisting Liadrin against his chest. “Lia.” He kissed the top of her head. “Alright.”

Lor’themar had spoken about his love for the Light, and Thalyssra had assumed… But no… Those hadn’t been the words of a devout and religious man but…

Liadrin was a _paladin…_

She could have laughed out loud, right before she conjured the thickest, most opaque arcane bubble and sealed herself inside. Thalyssra _had_ misread… and Lor’themar hadn’t been… and Liadrin was probably very…

And Thalyssra had been so _forward…_

She hoped she hadn’t damaged her friendship with Liadrin, or the relationship between Quel’Thalas and Suramar. What was even the proper way to apologize in this situation?

Thalyssra slunk off, muffling her footsteps with a spell. She didn’t think the quiet moment between the regent lord and the Blood Matriarch was meant to be intruded upon. 

* * *

“Are you alright?”

Thalyssra started, and bit her lip, willing her skin to stay its normal shade of lavender. Lor’themar stood in the archway behind her, carefully packing a pipe. 

“Of course. I was just… admiring the view.” She swept her arm out over the splendor of Eversong Woods, which was admittingly beautiful but which she had definitely not been admiring.

Lor’themar chuckled softly and did not call her bluff. He came forward on steps far too light for a burly ranger and draped his arms over the railing, unlit pipe dangling from his fingers. For a long moment neither of them spoke. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” the regent lord said finally. 

“What?”

“You were very quiet, but a ranger hears everything.” 

Thalyssra’s cheeks flamed. “Oh.”

“I never meant to cause any pain.” 

The man was truly, devastatingly beautiful in the moonlight, and Thalyssra’s heart hurt. “I would have _never_ done… _any_ of it, if I had known,” she stammered.

Lor’themar shook his head, placing the pipe between his teeth. “You’re not the only one,” he said. “Lia and I have never really let other people into our life.”

“She denied being involved with you.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “Officially, she isn’t.” His eye scanned the gold-orange trees. “I’ve seen many people come undone because of their loved ones. My old commander nearly lost her position, and a very high-ranking officer in another unit was banished. Tyrande Whisperwind ﹣ I’m sure you know her sorrows with Malfurion Stormrage.” He sighed. “And another ﹣ there was a riot some years ago in Stormwind, and the king lost his wife because of it.” 

“That’s awful.”

A gentle nod. “And I have seen the judgement of others, when a partner does well. My commander, again ﹣ none of us ever respected her partner, despite the fact that he had very real skills. Before she became the Blood Matriarch, Lia was our High Priestess.” He removed the pipe from his mouth, as if preparing to light it, but he didn’t. “I was a popular choice to serve as regent when Prince Kael’thas left us, but it’s not the norm to cede power to a Ranger Lord. Some would have seen my appointment as a direct result of my connection to Liadrin, and some would see her Blood Knight Order as existing only because the Regent Lord allows it.” 

“I’m no stranger to that,” Thalyssra said gently. “Suramar runs on nepotism. It’s one of the things I am trying to change.”

Another nod. “I would never want to invalidate Lia and her accomplishments that way. Everything she has ever done she’s worked very, very hard for, and I had very little to do with it. Our society is still extremely judgmental, and there are those who would call her reputation into question should they know.” He closed his eye. “I’m trying to protect her, in the only way I know how.”

Thalyssra’s voice was soft. “You must love her very much.”

“I do.” The longing in his voice, when he’d said _Perhaps we should tell people then, Lia..._ It must only be a pipe dream, something he could never have. Not after so long...

“Lia and I have been together for a long, long time. I honestly don’t remember what my life was like before she came into it.” 

She was still embarrassed, but Lor’themar didn’t seem to be holding it against her. He appeared to be concerned that he’d hurt her by not returning her affections, which was incredibly sweet and… 

Her heart thudded loudly beneath her breastbone. “You’ve done quite well for yourselves,” she heard herself saying. “You’re Salandria’s an’da, aren’t you?”

A beat. 

“Yes,” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I am.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever said that to.”

“That can’t be true.”

Lor’themar grinned, searching his pockets for a bit of flint and lighting his pipe. “Halduron knows,” he admitted, “but I never actually _told_ him. Halduron knows a lot of things he isn’t supposed to.”

Thalyssra thoughts turned towards Oculeth for a moment, and how there seemed to be nothing he did not know. Halduron Brightwing must be quite the same.

Lor’themar puffed quietly for a while, the sweet smell of Quel’Thalas’s bloodthistle drifting softly in the breeze. 

“Thank you,” Thalyssra said, “for entrusting me with such a secret.”

“I feel it’s important to foster trust between our two nations.”

Thalyssra laughed. “I don’t ﹣ this isn’t quite how it should be done, I don’t think.”

“I trust you.”

Another laugh. “Well. If we’re trading state secrets…”

“We’re not.” Lor’themar smiled easily at her. “I’m merely telling a friend about myself, as friends do. Please, I would love to hear more about you.” 

He was still beautiful, and Thalyssra was still attracted to him, but he was gracious and kind and did not make her feel badly for her attraction. He did not brag about Liadrin and Salandria, and didn’t especially talk about them at all. He was more interested in Thalyssra and her life, and as they talked, she understood more why the people of Quel’Thalas followed him. The Farstriders from which he’d come had never been a political entity before, not to the extent that they were now, but Lor’themar was personable and gave the impression of caring, deeply and personally, about people in the way a lord or the Grand Magister could not. Lor’themar had been with these people, lived and fought and _survived_ with these people. Their pain was his pain, as he told her about the setbacks to resettling some undead-overrun village in the south and the crowding and poverty that had plagued Quel’Thalas since the Scourge. His heart bled for his people. 

No wonder Liadrin loved him. 

“I seem to recall a man who wished he was fighting his friend for watch duty right now,” she teased, and he laughed.

“That was for your ears only,” he confided, “and only because you got me drunk.”

“How on earth did you get drunk off a children’s drink?”

“Mana is surprisingly potent,” Lor’themar said seriously, a frown tugging at the corners of his handsome mouth. “I think I understand the Wretched better now than I ever have.”

At the mention of the Wretched, Thalyssra felt a chill. “Let’s… a different subject, maybe?”

“Of course. My apologies.” But they didn’t speak, and for a long time there was only the sound of Lor’themar’s gentle breathing on his pipe, until at last it burned out. 

“Do you think Liadrin’s angry with me?” 

“Lia?” And _by the Nightwell,_ they even _spoke_ in the same manner. How had Thalyssra not seen it before? “Nah. You didn’t know.” He tucked the pipe away in his pocket, careful not to spill ash. “I will have to tell I told you, though. There are no secrets between us.” 

“Of course,” Thalyssra said hurriedly. “And I would never ﹣ I won’t breathe a word.”

Lor’themar tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You know ﹣ you and I are alright? You know that?”

“What?” 

He smiled, reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Relax,” he soothed. “I suppose if I were Halduron I’d be saying something about how﹣” and he cut himself off, shook his head, “﹣but I’m not half as vain as he is and also not nearly as much of a dick.” He laughed. “I’ll keep your secret too.” 

Her face felt on fire. “Thank you.” 

“Now.” He dropped his hand. “I must tell you, the view from this balcony is atrocious. Come.” And he held his arm out to her. “I’ll take you to a better one. It’s at the top of the Spire.”

  
  
  


Liadrin didn’t appear to be angry with her either, which only proved that she was the better woman between them. If Thalyssra had been in her shoes, she would have ended the friendship right then. 

But the Thalyssra who would have done such a thing existed so very long ago…

“I’ll be in Suramar personally to ensure the changes go smoothly,” Liadrin promised, on the morning of her departure. 

“Thank you so much for all you’ve done.” Thalyssra reached for her friend’s hands and clasped them in both of hers. “And for inviting me to see your beautiful city.”

“Of course.”

She knew better than to ask ﹣ Liadrin was an _exceedingly_ private person ﹣ but she couldn’t help but blurt out, “I really value your friendship, Liadrin. I really…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. 

Liadrin understood anyway; the look in her eyes softened. “I value yours as well. Please, send word when you’re home safe.”

“I will.” 

They embraced, and Liadrin stood by her with no hard feelings as Oculeth set up the telemancy beacon and called forth the portal that would take them all home. 

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of things here are referenced in the other stories in this series, like Lady Neeluu the Sunwell Warden, Erindae Firestrider, High Priest Kath'mar, and Lor'themar and Liadrin's under wraps relationship. 
> 
> The poem Lor'themar recites is a modified version of two poems by Lang Leav.
> 
> ALSO: I don't feel like I need to say this, given that you are reading _fanfiction_ , but given the comments I've gotten on a different story of mine, friendly reminder that literally nothing in this story is canon.
> 
> Blizzard can bite me.


End file.
